This year’s annual trip had a very simple theme: if it could go wrong, it did go wrong. Frustrations ran the gamut from mundane issues such as torrential rain and dodgy coils to more serious things including a starter motor failing mid-trip, and finally, the ultimate headache, some ham fisted self-inflicted damage to a plastic bearing cage while replacing an oil seal on the main output shaft. Best of all, these events occurred at the most inconvenient times possible, which will make this trip one of our most unforgettable ever (regardless of how hard we may try).
Here begins our tale of woe:
Prelude
If you have read any of my other ride reports, you may recall that my buddies and I have ridden a multi-week trip on our bikes for the past few years. This year, Randy and Dave and I had decided to do a New England ride for our annual trek, and so I had spent many a night last winter burning the midnight oil researching the best routes. As Randy would be coming east from Ohio, I would plan on meeting him at a campground about halfway between us, which would give each of us a 300 mile day. Dave had other family obligations, so he would plan to join us later in the week.
I had just finished replacing some shims and buttoning the Tiger back up, when I had the brilliant idea to replace all of the seals under the sprocket cover. Now, I am using the term “brilliant” (notice the quotes) because not only did I undertake this when there really wasn’t a critical need, but I did so the day before I was to leave on the trip. Believe it or not, I do recall having the thought that I might be tempting karma by doing this, but being born with an overabundance of confidence, I blithely threw such cares to the wind.
That was a mistake. A big one, as it turned out.
Briefly, here’s a quick summary of what I did (working title: “How to ruin your day in one easy step”):
I checked the drawings in the factory repair manual, saw nothing that looked to be fragile behind the main output shaft oil seal, and commenced to tap a small flat bladed screwdriver into the seal to pry it out. In doing so I quickly learned three important things:
1- The factory manual drawings are not trustworthy.
2- Even the smallest metal screwdriver blade is stronger than a plastic bearing spacer.
3- The world can turn from rosy pink to shit brindle brown in the blink of an eye.
The result of my poking karma in the eye with my flat bladed screwdriver was that the Tiger wouldn’t be going on this trip, and I would have to come up with a Plan B, and quickly!
It just so happens that like many of you, I subscribe to the fleet theory of transportation with both my automobiles and my motorbikes. The brilliance of this theory is that if you have enough vehicles, your odds of having at least one roadworthy is better than even.
In my case, I have a fine ’99 Triumph Legend which I rode as my only bike until I found my Steamer, so Plan B was obvious. Of course, any Plan B worth its salt has to have some challenges of its own, and in this case, the Legend was in storage 40 miles north at my mother-in-law’s house, and upon driving up to get it, I discovered that both the registration and inspection had expired. Since my local inspection shop wouldn’t be open until Tuesday, we shuffled the dates a bit and crossed our fingers that the weather would cooperate.
It didn’t.
Tuesday May 30
344 miles
Kettle Creek Campground
Having packed the Legend the previous night, I found myself in the parking lot of the bike shop when they opened at 9:00 am, and they promptly rolled the Legend in for inspection. I had renewed the registration online, and had printed a temporary permit which I had in my pocket. Once they rolled the bike back out with a fresh inspection sticker in place, I lost no time in getting underway.
The weather was dark and overcast, with rain predicted. Since I was getting such a late start, and since the weather was supposed to be lousy, I opted to use some interstates to recover some time and miles. I was just about 30 minutes into the ride when the skies opened up and the torrential rain began. It continued unabated for the next two hours, not even letting up slightly when I finally pulled off the road to grab some lunch. Fortunately, my lunch stop, Bob’s Diner, did not have carpet on the floors, and my waitress just smiled when she saw the steady stream of water running out of my gear onto the tile underneath my seat. She actually had to bring over a mop at one point to soak up the ever expanding puddle which had formed under my booth, but she still just laughed it off and said no worries. After riding humped over like a toad for two hours in a torrential downpour, her kindness was much appreciated, and you can bet that the tip I left her was a generous one. The food itself was also first rate, and it really helped to give me the pluck I needed to don my soaking wet gear and continue onward.
Confession time: I have always hated to put on wet gear, and it’s usually a toss-up as to whether trying to jam wet hands into wet gloves or putting on a wet helmet is the worst. Today, it was the helmet, as the feel of ice cold water running down the back of my neck made so crystal clear. Unfortunately, so much water had infiltrated to the inside of the visor when I cracked it for ventilation that my anti-fog treatment had apparently washed off. Of course, I only discovered this after getting all of my gear strapped back on as I stood outside in the pouring rain. Obviously this wasn’t going to be successful, so I went back inside, wiped the visor as dry as I could with my handkerchief, then put everything back on for a second time and headed back into the storm. (By the way, old snot mixed with a bit of rainwater seems to be an effective anti-fog treatment.)
Continuing on in the downpour, I eventually exited the freeway onto backroads, which took me to the campground. The rain finally let up about an hour before I reached the campground, so I was able to flip up my visor and enjoy the last hour of twisty roads and the sun which had finally shown its face for the first time that day.
When I pulled in and found Randy, he told me that the ground was soft, and his bike had tipped over on the side stand and broken a turn signal. All in all, we both had auspicious starts for this year’s trip, and little did we know that the worst still lay ahead…
(click on the pictures if you are squinting to read this
)
The Legend all packed (yes there is a bike under all that stuff
)
My excellent lunch stop
Our wet campsite
Randy trying to remember the hand signal for a left turn
Topic: The Ride through New England that wasn't (Read 5465 times)
